


Living Memory

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Interspecies, M/M, Nonmonogamy, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kisses to remember by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Danachan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Danachan), [danae_b](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=danae_b).



> This is dedicated to [](http://danachan.livejournal.com/profile)[**danachan**](http://danachan.livejournal.com/), with many *huggles*. I realized I had never given Faramir and Pippin a NC-17 rated scene alone together.

Title: Living Memory  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Faramir/Pippin  
Other pairings discussed or implied: Merry/Pippin, Faramir/Eowyn. Eowyn/Merry, Boromir/Pippin  
Summary: Kisses to remember by.  
Warnings: slash, het, interspecies, cheerful nonmonogamy; both book-and movieverse.  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, written with characters and settings that are not mine, for love not profit.

 

"They look _beautiful_ together, don't they?" Merry threw himself full-length on the pallet; Pippin grunted indignantly as Merry's flop made him bounce. He felt, not unwell, but a little out of sorts, as if he didn't quite fit into his skin.

Merry rolled on his side to scan Pippin with an appraising grey eye. "How do you, Pip?" he asked, propping up his head with one arm and laying the other hand on Pippin's chest, and Pippin smiled as he turned his head to look at his Merry. "I'm well," he replied, laying his hand over Merry's. "I'm fine, Merry. Just a bit tired. And Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn do indeed look beautiful together."

"You're sure?" Their fingers twined together. "I know how you feel for Lord Faramir."

"And I know how you feel for Lady Eowyn." Pippin's heart twinged, but his smile was real, and Merry's was just as bittersweet. "And they were just betrothed two days ago, this is their moment. I _do_ know how to leave well enough alone."

"I know you do, Pippin." Merry gently kissed his brow. "Did you ever think we would make such friends and find such loves, when we set out simply to keep Frodo from going alone into danger?"

Pippin shook his head, but what he said was, "I think your buckle just stuck me, Merry. Why're you still wearing so much to bed?"

Merry looked down at himself, still in shirt and breeches and tabard. "Who says I'm coming to bed?"

Pippin poked him, gently. "Well, you are lying here beside me, and all."

"Oh, I'm just keeping you company." Merry squirmed closer, and Pippin curled into him. "For my part, I could go all night!"

That was, of course, when the knock sounded at the door. Pippin looked at Merry, who stared back at him with wide eyes and made to pull the blanket over them, but a low alto voice stopped him. "I know you are in there, Merry," Eowyn called, half laughing, and Merry's face lit as he jumped down from the bed to let her in.

Pippin smiled and sat up, watching them embrace. Eowyn was easy for Pippin to love, even aside of for Merry's and Faramir's sakes. She was beautiful and valiant and sometimes even cheerful. Sometimes a cloud crept over her, as it did over them all, but Faramir or Merry would take her hand, and she would smile and press their hand before letting go; once Pippin did, and when she smiled at him it felt like sunshine on his face. So, Pippin was glad indeed to see her and to watch Merry's happiness, even if he rather wished Faramir had come as well.

Then Pippin found himself looking up with surprise and delight at Eowyn standing beside him, her hand extended and her smile inviting. "Come with me, Pippin?"

"Anywhere, my lady," Pippin replied, bowing as best he could, grinning when Eowyn laughed at him. She should laugh always, he thought, and glanced to see Merry looking up at her face with a small sideways smile, obviously thinking the same thing. Then Merry's gaze locked on Pippin's, and his smile widened to a grin. "Come on then," he said, and Pippin did with a grin of his own, climbing out of bed to take Eowyn's hand.

Merry took her other hand and carried the torch, and they walked through the sleep-dim ways of the Golden Hall as rain pattered on the high roof. Pippin thought of asking where they were bound, but instead he looked up at gilded carvings of horses and hunts, glinting in the torchlight, and up at Eowyn, serene with her golden hair shining behind her. She looked down at him once with a smile, and he almost couldn't smile back for how beautiful she was.

At length, they came to a door, much like the others, but Eowyn smiled at it almost a little wistfully for a moment before releasing Merry's hand to knock three times. A small rustling within, and the door opened just wide enough for a thin hobbit to slip through. Eowyn pulled Pippin towards the door, and he looked up uncertainly; she smiled and kissed his brow, and Merry leaned over to kiss his mouth before giving him a gentle shove. So Pippin went in, not realizing he hadn't even asked why until the door shut behind him.

A soft footfall; Pippin turned to see a tall Man, eyes shining far brighter than the candle he bore, and his heart flared within him, surging out to the crown of his head and his fingers and toes. "My lord Faramir!" he cried, checking his rush just enough to be careful of the candle as he wrapped his arms round Faramir's waist, pressing his cheek to linen over lean flesh. He should have guessed! He owed Eowyn such thanks in the morning!

Faramir laughed, low and warm, and curved an arm around Pippin, who helped himself be lifted by clutching Faramir's nightshirt, climbing as he would a tree; that way, he was already off his feet when Faramir's kiss set him floating. Faramir cupped Pippin's thigh in one long-fingered hand as he kissed him, tender and unhurried, subtly sweet and warmly male. Pippin wound his arms round Faramir's neck and strove to rouse him to heat, nibbling his lower lip; Faramir's answering chuckle delighted and frustrated him in equal measure, and his groan earned him another chuckle. and a deeper kiss. Pippin dimly felt himself borne over to the bed, but paid little heed till Faramir set down the candle and sank the freed hand into his curls; pushing into that hand's caress as he sucked on Faramir's lip, Pippin thought a grin at the little gasp thus won, which from most people would have been a moan.

At length, too soon, Faramir drew back. "Ah, Pippin," he said, candlelight dancing in his eyes, and Pippin just _had_ to kiss him on one cheek and the other and the high bridge of his nose, just to feel him alive and smiling. "Oh, Faramir! This is wonderful! Did you plan this, or did my lady Eowyn?" Faramir smiled all the more at Pippin's delight, stroking his hair. "Eowyn said we should have some time to remember our friends by before you departed; I told her she was wise as well as fair, and she kissed me."

"The right thing to say, then." Pippin grinned and followed suit, and this time Faramir's kiss was laced with heat, his hands tightening on Pippin's curls and flesh. Pippin squirmed in Faramir's hold, the better to feel him, briefly forgetting that Faramir would take it for distress and loosen his grip; before Faramir could pull away Pippin clutched him, tilting his head to press the kiss deeper. Reassured, Faramir pulled him back in, warm and tight, laying them both down so that Pippin lay on his chest, and Pippin moaned his satisfaction into the kiss.

Sprawled on Faramir's chest, feeling muscle and scars and skin through their nightshirts and beard-fringed lips soft beneath the press of his own, Pippin wallowed in the delight of Faramir, in his supple wide mouth and large gentle hands, in the opportunity of one more night together. One more night with Faramir, his Captain and prince, who had caught his heart from their first sight of each other. One more night with Faramir, wrapped in his long arms and held by his clear eyes. One more night Pippin might never have had, and that thought made the life in him blaze up that much brighter, made him kiss Faramir as ravishingly as he knew how.

Laughing a little breathlessly, Faramir pushed Pippin off and up, his hands curled round Pippin's shoulders, his eyes deep and shining. "Ah, Pippin. Let me look at you."

Faramir's gaze, intense as flame, brought the blood to Pippin's cheeks; "I'd rather you feel me," Pippin said, brazening out his blush. Tucking his knees to either side of Faramir's chest, he stroked Faramir's breastbone and pressed himself down; Faramir laughed again, looking happy and young and so fair. "I want---"

But the depth of Faramir's eyes, his fond and serious look, stopped the words in Pippin's mouth, stopped the voice in his throat as it took his breath away. "What do you want, Pippin?" Faramir asked softly, one hand sliding up from Pippin's shoulder to cup his cheek in a gentle scarred palm, fingers carding through his hair to press his nape. "What would you have of me?"

"Everything," Pippin blurted before he could think, and Faramir smiled so encouragingly he couldn't stop. "I want to lie with you, I want to talk with you. I want to ask you so much, about Gondor and Numenor and history and legends, about your first battle, about Beregond and about the Guards and about, about...." Pippin faltered, but Faramir nodded understanding. "You want to ask of Boromir," he said steadily, and Pippin nodded. "And of, well, my lord Denethor. What your lives were like before the days were so dark."

That last shadowed Faramir's eyes, and Pippin's heart smote him, but any possible salvation lay in more words. "There's so much I want to do with my mouth beside ask you things!" he continued, and now Faramir saw him again, was smiling again. "I want to kiss you enough to remember your kisses forever, lick you enough to remember how you taste." Faramir's eyes were darkening with heat now, not sadness, his heartbeat hastening beneath Pippin's hands. "I want to feel you peak, I want you to tup me so I might remember always how you feel within me."

Faramir's eyes went stirringly wide. "I would rather you able to walk in the morning," he said, as he did whenever Pippin asked; Pippin grinned and pushed against the hand holding him up, into the hand on his cheek, feeling a fine tremor in both. "I want you, Faramir," he said, pitching his voice low, watching Faramir's lips part. "I want you to have me. I want you in me. I want---"

With a thrilling little growl, Faramir pulled him in for another kiss, and this one was commanding, almost fierce; hand sunk in Pippin's hair holding him still, lip pressed hard to lip, Faramir tangled their tongues as with his free hand he efficiently stripped Pippin's shirt up and off, then his own, breaking the kiss for the briefest of moments to pull the shirts over their heads.

"Pippin," Faramir murmured over Pippin's mouth, hands stroking Pippin from nape to knee, the moving touch making Pippin's heart dance and his body writhe; he pressed himself into Faramir's hands even as he clutched his shoulders and bucked against him. Faramir's caress behind Pippin's knee shook a long moan out of him, and Faramir smiled over his mouth, beard tickling his lips. "Pippin," Faramir said differently, pushing gently on the fronts of Pippin's thighs, and Pippin managed enough thought to draw his knees in so Faramir could tip them onto their sides.

Faramir tipped Pippin onto his back, an arm beneath his head; Pippin reached up to wind his hands in wavy locks, but Faramir bent to his nipple, and all Pippin could do was moan and arch and clutch at the air. Life crackling through his veins, nipple tingling with sensation as Faramir smothered it in wet flexing heat, Pippin happily sank himself into the familiar surge of pleasure. "Yes, please, yes!" he wailed, and when Faramir nipped him, even though gently, words shattered into a cry.

"Shh," Faramir murmured, breath hot and cool both over damp throbbing flesh, and Pippin laughed and gasped and tugged till Faramir leaned over him, smiling fondly. "Would you wake the whole Hall?" Faramir asked, and Pippin grinned and nodded. "Why should they be left out?"

Faramir's eyes went wide, and then he laughed, and Pippin could have danced a jig if he weren't on his back. Instead he draped a leg over Faramir's hip, squirming closer to feel the press of him, and tilted his face up for a kiss, but when Faramir leaned down he stroked the curls on Pippin's brow aside and kissed him there, kissed over his eyes and nose and cheeks while his beard rasped Pippin's face and made him giggle. Just as Pippin was growing impatient Faramir kissed his way to Pippin's mouth, and Pippin wondered idly at it as he kissed back, feeling the muscles of Faramir's shoulders shift beneath his hands.

Then Pippin realized Faramir kissed him to remember him; the thought as rousing as a love-bite, it pressed him closer, skin against skin, made him wind his arms tight round Faramir's neck and suck hard on his lip. Faramir's breathing roughened deep in his chest, and he returned the kiss just as hard, trembling when Pippin stroked the scar on his sword hand over the long scar across Faramir's ribs. So much of Faramir beside him and over him and in his heart, so much of him to know and remember; though Pippin had made a study of him as much as their duties would allow these last few months, still he intended to feel and recall everything.

So too did Faramir, Pippin could feel, one hand gently holding his shoulder while the other roamed his body. Calloused fingertips brushed tingles into Pippin's skin, strong fingers pressed him just this side of too lightly, tracing along his throat and ribs, the hollows of his hips and the dip of his navel, till he quivered and squirmed and laughed again. Faramir smiled over Pippin's cheek, kissing that cheek and chin and down along the paths of his fingers, a different way of mapping; he licked the scar across Pippin's collarbone, and the flood of sensation blanked Pippin's mind, shuddered through him, shook loose a wail. It felt strange and hot and wonderful, and Faramir did it again as he splayed his hand across Pippin's belly, sweeping lower to drape it loosely over Pippin's cock so that he cried out and bucked up into the touch, "Ah, Faramir, yes, please, yes!"

"Shhh," Faramir tried to say to Pippin's breastbone, but he was laughing, warm breath on hot skin, and curved an enveloping fist round him, so that Pippin shoved his own fist into his mouth against a scream. But Faramir stopped, and Pippin squeaked and sucked in a breath, shivering in empty air; his eyes opened to Faramir smiling warmly down at him as he curled his hand round Pippin's wrist, easing Pippin's fist from his mouth. "I have thought better," Faramir said, pressing the captured hand to the arrow-scar on his shoulder and stroking it flat. "Silence ill suits you, Pippin, and I wish to watch your face."

Pippin grinned, wriggling hintingly. "And if I shout and wake the Hall?"

"The risk is great, but the prize is sweet," Faramir replied, grinning back, and Pippin laughed till Faramir kissed him, wrapping his hand round him again and stroking him to gasping moans. Faramir drew back, just a little, and Pippin could feel his gaze like firelight on his face, though he couldn't see it, his eyes pressed tight as his body chased pleasure, thrusting into Faramir's fist. "Ah, Pippin," Faramir murmured, his voice like another hand stroking Pippin all over. "My fair lad, flushed and radiant in the candle's glow." Pippin moaned a laugh, hands pressed over Faramir's hard nipple and pulsing heart, already helpless with pleasure as every stroke pulled him closer and closer----

\---but Faramir changed the tilt of his hand, and Pippin moaned trembling on the brink. "Please," he gasped, "please, oh please!"

Faramir's hair brushed Pippin's face like a thousand fingertips. "You would have this, Pippin?" Pippin gasped and nodded, and Faramir leaned closer, so his breath blew warm over Pippin's damp brow. "Then reach there, beneath that pillow."

"Reach?" Pippin squeaked, barely able to form the word; he pried his eyes open to find Faramir still smiling ear to ear, and when he tilted his head to snap weakly at Faramir's nose Faramir laughed and gave him a squeezing stroke that hazed his mind and sight. "Oh, I can't stand it, I can't!" Pippin protested as he reached, though he rather spoiled the effect by laughing and gasping; his fingers found a small flask and his eyes flared wide with surprise, and then he laughed again in understanding. "You planned this! You knew I'd ask!"

"You ever ask," Faramir said warmly, tucking his arm beneath Pippin's head to brush his fingertips along Pippin's ear, tracing the curve and point, and down over his cheek. "You ever ask, and I can no more withstand you." Pippin pulled the flask out, but his hand couldn't rise from the mattress as Faramir ran a silk-rough thumbtip over his nether head, as his back arched with the lightnings crackling up it. "I would watch your face as pleasure takes you," Faramir murmured, voice curling warmth round Pippin's spine, and all Pippin could reply was a moan, "I would feel you beside me, around me." Pulling Pippin closer, brushing his brow with warm lips, Faramir breathed, "now, for me, my Peregrin, my knight;" Faramir's voice and caress together overcoming him , Pippin wailed and peaked and spilled over Faramir's hand.

The pleasure juddered through him, dropping him back to the bed, but Faramir was there to catch him, to hold him close and stroke his cheek till he returned to himself. Pippin found his face turned inward over the arrow-scar, and he licked it and felt Faramir's surprised tremble, smiled at his gasp. "Oh, that was lovely," he said, and Faramir squeezed him gently, but Pippin found his arms held to his sides. "But don't you----"

"I would have your pleasure," Faramir murmured over Pippin's brow and kissed him, sweet and warm and somehow giving him his breath again. "I would feel you." Faramir released his arms and Pippin raised them, remembering the flask in his hand just as Faramir smiled and reached for it, then kissed Pippin's shoulder. As Pippin sank his hands into wavy hair and held on, Faramir kissed his collarbone and mouthed his nipples, chuckling when Pippin writhed and bucked and moaned, charting his ribs and scars with soft kisses and long gentle fingers, down over his belly and his hips. Pippin sucked in a breath, and laughed for sheer joy, the laughter shading to gasps as Faramir lowered his head, hair brushing Pippin's belly and thighs, to lick him hard again with long curling strokes of his tongue.

But then he pulled off, and Pippin nearly pulled his hair. "Don't stop!" he pleaded, or meant to, but his words were mangled when Faramir kissed his inner thigh, sucking the blood to the surface as one slick large finger stroked its way to press and tease and press just a bit harder. Pippin gave himself over to it, pushing his head back into the pillow, his whole body quivering to Faramir's touch; the one thought in his pleasure-flooded head was that he always loved that feeling of opening from whichever direction, until that finger sank into him, filling him, and all thoughts were burned clean away.

Faramir shifted a little, the tip of his nose brushing low as he licked Pippin's eggs, slowly sinking his finger deeper, almost bringing Pippin's peak forth by that alone; he licked up and plunged down and Pippin wailed and bucked, transfixed by the double pleasure, almost shocked he hadn't peaked, craving more. Faramir's chuckle was a hum in the wet sucking heat all round Pippin's prick, and he pulled back and returned with another finger and pressed _there_, and the candlelight shattered into golden stars behind Pippin's eyes as he heard himself sob. "Yes," he heard himself beg, and "Please," and "tup me, tup me, I can't bear it;" Faramir moaned around him, but then stilled maddeningly and pulled off again.

A flurry of longing tumbled through Pippin's mind, mostly "don't" and "please" and "go on!"; his moan was choked and needy, and he would have begged if he'd had words left, but as Faramir shifted beside him he kissed gently along his path up, belly and heart and throat and chin and finally Pippin's eyelids. "Open your eyes," he whispered, but Pippin's eyes had clenched so tight he could only shake his head. "Open your eyes," Faramir repeated with just a shade of command, one Pippin couldn't deny; he shook all over, but he opened his eyes. "Pippin," Faramir said, drops glistening on his brow, eyes deep enough to drown in, "Pippin, my comely lad, I need you for this with your wits about you. Are you able?"

Pippin looked up at Faramir, beautiful and shining and roused, and tried to speak, and could only nod. Faramir smiled, fingertips like kisses on Pippin's face, his thumb stroking Pippin's bottom lip, and how was it that Pippin felt that more than the two fingers within him? But then Faramir slid that hand beneath him, down across his back to his side, and rolled them both over; the shift and press of movement sank those fingers deeper, flaring red across Pippin's sight, and he barely felt his hands clutch at Faramir's shoulders. "Oh," he heard himself saying, as if he could never say anything else. "Oh."

"Yes," Faramir murmured, stroking Pippin's back, and Pippin pressed into the touch and gulped a breath, got his eyes open to watch Faramir's eyes crinkle on seeing him wriggle further back. "Pippin. I need your hands for this," Faramir said, holding the flask up; when Pippin reached for it he realized Faramir needed him to pour, but then a better idea came to him and he poured into his own hand, fairly steadily considering how he was trembling. Ignoring the quirk of Faramir's eyebrow, Pippin rubbed his hands together, took a deep steadying breath, and reached back.

Pippin rather wished he might use his mouth, too, but then that would mean getting up, and he wouldn't've done that for the world. As it was, he had to bite his lip to balance the feel of Faramir's prick, velvet and heat and hardness, the head slick and wet in his hand; Faramir shuddered all over, tingling through Pippin so that even biting his lip wasn't enough, and his moan was half a laugh. "Pippin," Faramir gasped, voice shaking, and the triumph of stirring him so was better than winning a battle, "how you look, Pippin, how you _feel_\---" Pippin got in one good backwards stroke as Faramir's hand clenched on his hip, before Faramir dragged him forward, one hand still beneath and within him, to catch his cry in a devouring kiss. "Peregrin," Faramir groaned, leaning their damp brows together, and Pippin opened his eyes in surprise to find Faramir's closed tight, lashes quivering on his cheeks. "Pippin, oh, I, I would be gentle, but you, you---"

"I don't want gentle," Pippin said, looking into Faramir's eyes as they opened to his, wide and dark and bottomless. "I just want you."

"Pippin." Faramir's hand curved round his cheek as he eased his fingers out, and Pippin groaned at the withdrawal, but Faramir was moving him back, lifting him and settling him and _there_. His slick hands slid on Faramir's chest, but Pippin pushed anyway, getting his legs beneath him as he bore back and down. He hissed as he was slowly opened, and perhaps he should have used a little more oil, but Faramir was finally within him and it was even more wonderful than he'd dreamt, the overwhelming feel of it tingling through his flesh, prickling along his skin, flaring across his vision and curling his fingers and toes.

When they were flush, when he could see again, Pippin looked up through his hanging curls to find Faramir staring at him wide-eyed, and he managed a grin. "I _have_ done this before," Pippin gasped, and Faramir's answering laugh was joyously ragged. "Ah, Pippin," Faramir replied, stroking up over Pippin's side and shoulder and throat to his cheek, slick hand stroking his thigh, waist to knee and tracing the scar. "And I never doubted you, never. But hold, one moment more?" Pippin wanted to be moving already, so badly he could taste it, but he nodded, and Faramir got his elbows beneath him, then sat up. That just rocked him deeper within Pippin, and Pippin felt his cheek press to Faramir's chest as he curled and moaned and strove to clutch Faramir's shoulders with slippery hands. "Now," Faramir murmured, hands sliding down Pippin's back to curve round his hips, one finger tracing the cleft where they were joined, "Now, I think, we might do this."

Pippin laughed. "I think we are." He pushed up, and their mouths met, and when he pushed down as hard as he could they both groaned into the kiss.

Sitting up was even better, sliding against each other, Pippin's cock pressed between them. Faramir let Pippin set the pace, holding him close with hands splayed on his back and watching his face as if he were a wonder, and though Pippin basked in that gaze he swore to himself he'd drive Faramir wild before they were done; as he dragged Faramir's mouth to his again he remembered some very giggly riding lessons with Merry, and put a wave into his spine as he moved.

That did it, unexpectedly enough, for both of them. Faramir shook as if fevered, pushing Pippin down harder on the downstrokes; something shifted, and what had just been grazed was now _pressed_, and Pippin cried out and nearly lost his hold. Just a little more, as his body fluttered tighter, as his hands flexed and fisted on Faramir's shoulders, as Faramir's groan reverberated through him, and----

Pippin peaked, hot and sticky between their bellies, so hard he felt he'd shatter, white stars streaking across his vision, but not so hard he couldn't hear Faramir's cry on feeling him. "Oh," Faramir gasped, curling a little, and his mouth fastened to Pippin's throat, sucking harder than Pippin would have thought he knew how; his hands clamped sword-hard on Pippin's hips, fingers denting his flesh, and it felt so _much_ it was beyond considerations of pleasure or pain. Pippin's cries were knocked from him by each thrust as Faramir moved him, driving into him, moaning into his throat; distantly Pippin wished he could see Faramir's eyes in his wildness, as he sucked Pippin's pulse so that the blood rushed up just under the skin, as he pushed him down hard and peaked within him, his shout muffled against Pippin's flesh.

Pippin felt every pulse, and Faramir's hands shaking in time, his whole body rigid for a long breathless moment; then Faramir slumped, lips trembling as he kissed the mark throbbing on Pippin's throat. He drew a great shaking breath and lay back just a little more gracefully than a fall, and Pippin went with him, unstrung and boneless across his chest. Releasing Pippin's hips--- and Pippin could feel the fingermarks there throbbing, too--- Faramir slid his hands up onto Pippin's back as he trembled back down to stillness. Riding out Faramir's heaving breaths, gulping in air himself, Pippin listened to Faramir's heart slow beneath his ear; feeling his whole body flushed and thrumming, he smiled with just a little triumph and a great deal of sated joy.

So they lay for a little while. Pippin was drifting, somewhere between asleep and awake, when Faramir moved again, hands stroking his back, one tracing down his spine to palm his cheek. "Pippin, how---"

Pippin snorted. As if he were so fragile. "I'm fine!" he said, laughing a little as he drew his hands beneath his chin and turned his face up. Faramir regarded him a little reprovingly, and replied, "I would not have you hurt for my pleasure."

"And I'm not; you were wonderful, this was wonderful." Pippin wriggled, shaking out his spine, easing off and scooting forward. "Isn't it lovely to feel so good, after so much pain?" Faramir's eyes softened, and he tugged Pippin up, though their skins stuck and clung; cradling Pippin's head in both hands, he kissed him gently. "Peregrin," Faramir murmured warmly, "Pippin. You undo me, oh how you undo me."

Those words echoed painfully, and Pippin kissed Faramir again before the tears in his eyes could show, but Faramir looked at him with keen eyes, and when he stroked Pippin's cheek with his thumb the tear fell anyway. "So my brother told you." Pippin nodded, throat too tight to speak; Faramir kissed beneath his eye and drew back smiling. "It does ease my heart," he said, smile small but true, fingers stroking the nape of Pippin's neck, "to know how well Boromir was loved in his last days, to know the worth of those he died for."

Pippin's eyes overflowed even as he smiled, and this kiss tasted of tears. "Thank you," he said, pressing his cheek to Faramir's shoulder. "Thank you for talking to me about Boromir. We both loved him, but he was your brother, you knew him all your life. I wouldn't know how at all to talk of Merry if I'd lost him." And he nearly had. They all nearly had been lost.

But they hadn't been, by love and grace and the hands of the King. Faramir kissed Pippin's brow, thumb still stroking his cheek, other arm wrapped warmly around him. The rain had stopped, and the night was very quiet for a moment before Faramir said, "Boromir would laugh at me sometimes, for how quickly I come to love, but I have never met any whose love is as swift or as fearless as yours, Pippin. I thought on it when I held you on the eve of a hopeless battle; despite how it may seem, I do not make a practice of whisking new-met soldiers off to my bed." They laughed, and Pippin turned his head a little to kiss the heel of Faramir's hand. "And I thought on you when I met Eowyn, when I knew that if she went back to bide in Rohan I could never be happy again."

Pippin tossed his head up in delight. "Really?"

"Truly." Faramir caressed his ear, smiling warmly. His smile grew even wider when Pippin said, "Well, that's fitting, then, as I thought of you at the last battle, when King Elessar spoke of 'all that we held dear'. I wanted you and Merry and Frodo to be proud of me."

"Surely we are," Faramir said, and kissed him again. "Ah, Pippin, are all you halflings such bearers of hope? Eowyn has told me of Merry, and Frodo of Sam, and without the hope you gave me before that lightless dawn..." He shook his head. "But here we are, beyond all hope, and here you are beside me."

"Here I am," Pippin agreed with a smile, and would have said more but surprised himself by yawning. Faramir chuckled at his surprise and gently slid him off, onto his belly on the bed. "And it is late, and you must return to your room before dawn."

Pippin raised his own eyebrow at that, pointedly looking around them at the tousled bed, the mussed and sticky sheets. "I may as well stay; the bed can't be more wrecked. We might share a bath in the morning?" Faramir laughed, shaking his head; Pippin opened his mouth to plead his case, there being so much left to say to each other and to do together, but Faramir leaned over him to kiss the nape of his neck, and the protest came out a moan as his eyes fluttered closed. Pippin's eyelids proved quite heavy to raise again, and by the time he'd caught his breath Faramir was already drawing the sheets up and curling round him; when he yawned again it seemed Faramir had a point. "Well, perhaps I might shut my eyes."

"And I shall close mine." But Faramir's clear gaze drew Pippin's, and his heart stirred within him as it had the first time they had met. "Rest well," Faramir said, curving his hand round Pippin's cheek to gently hold his chin and kiss him, lightly on his brow and then deeply on his mouth. "Pippin, who has gladdened my heart. Peregrin, son of Paladin, of the Shire."

Pippin wanted Faramir to look at him so forever, with a gaze that made him feel warm and whole and wonderful, but his eyelids were already drooping. "And your Knight of Gondor, my lord Faramir," Pippin said, Faramir's smile filling his sight as his eyes sank closed.


End file.
